The Furry Mist

I took spumkin's idea to write about furries and Spitter's idea about the sky exploding, and this is what came out...

When the first explosions hit, knocking everyone in the convention hall down, I shit in my fur-suit. I'd eaten nothing but Taco Bell during the whole fur-convention week and the resultant mess ran down my legs into my fur-boots. Thus when everyone else ran outside to watch the sky split apart, I ran into the bathroom. From what I heard later it was quite a show, all weird colors and jaggedy lightening but I was too busy cleaning the shit off of me to care about anything else. I still wanted to get with that sexy fox-vixen I had been talking to before the first explosion hit. I didn't care if it was a guy or girl in there. For us furries, it's all about the fantasy. And I wanted to get laid by a giant fox. I put my wolf suit back on and ran out just in time for another explosion to send everyone running back inside. I ducked under a booth as three more explosions rocked the air, showering pieces of ceiling down. Then everything was quiet.
When I saw everyone else getting up I got up too and we all walked outside. The sky was a deep shade of pulsating neon purple and we stood, transfixed. And then it split open, and the mist came pouring down. I watched as my animal brethren were engulfed in it, one by one. Suddenly someone screamed and we all ran back inside as fast as we could. I sat down on the floor and took my wolf head off. Then I looked around and realized that no one else had, and put it back on. Despite all the weird things that had happened that day, I was still a Wolf goddammit! I spotted that sexy vixen again and was walking over when a guy in a cheap rabbit suit yelled and pointed at the glass door at the front of the hall. Something was moving around in the mist just outside the doors, pacing back and forth.
Suddenly it turned and smashed through the glass, a huge snarling tiger, now bloody from the glass...and wearing a convention button. We all screamed and started to run to the back rooms but the Tiger jumped on a cat-girl that had tripped on her own tail and proceed to tear her to shreds. The slimmest of us got in and locked the doors but we left the larger furs behind. We listened to them scream to be let in as they were mutilated, but it we all agreed that it was us or them. Then we all sat around and listened to the tiger try to break the door down. A hot looking squirrel spoke up.
"I'm bored. Lets find something to do."
"Well," I said, "lets do what furries always do in situations like this..."
"Yiff!" We all yelled. And yiff we did. Till the mist seeped under the door and turned a mouse and bear into real giant mouse and bears who then proceeded to tear each other apart. Then we decided it was best to find another place to hide out and have indiscriminate sex. We ran into the store room's meat locker. It didn't seem to make sense that there would be one there, but it was pretty lucky for us.
"So," said a male wolf, "Should we yiff first, or pig out on this frozen meat?"
"I'm a cow," said a cow, "I can't eat that."
"Alright then," said the wolf as he pulled out his human member, "lets do this thing!"
Three days later the power shut down and we ate as much meat as we could before it started to rot. A good portion of us got some bad ham though and got pretty sick, throwing up all over the place. Some of us thought that was pretty hot, but I had never been into that stuff. We were able to survive for about a month by eating the one's who died until it was just me and the other wolf.
"Alright, I think we should fight each other to the death." He said.
"Shouldn't we yiff one last time?" I proposed.
"I supposed we could...hey, whats that noise?"
Suddenly the door flew open and there stood...zombies? In superhero costumes? The wolf pushed me out the door and shut it behind him. The zombies stood looking at me.
"Wolf man?" Superman growled. "What kind of superhero is wolf man?"
"He not superhero." Growled Thor "He just furry. Stinky furry too. Me no like eat furries, me get bad stomach."
The other zombies agreed and shuffled away. I walked back into the convention hall. At least the mist was gone, but what kind of world was left in it's wake? I yearned for someone to Yiff with. Suddenly, across the street, I saw her in front of a grocery store: A giant cut out of Speedy Alka Seltzer. I had found my true love. We got married in a broken down church with a toilet serving as a minister. Later I would publish the memoirs of his amazing life after he died in a strange plumbing accident. The Life and Times of a Toilet became a best-seller in Zombie Superhero America and in human pork pie Europe. It was banned in Don Knotts clone Antarctica, however.
THE END

Mean Joe Gets a Lift

Mean Joe did not feel good. He stood in the shadows of the old arcade, watching Fat Bob's goons mill around by the entrance to the disused river tunnel and pondered what it meant. He thought back to all the times he had felt this way before, sick to his guts. Something bad always happened. It was a warning and ignoring it had always had consequences. He couldn't back out now though. If he wasn't out of town soon something even worse would probably happen. Cut the probably, he would be dead. So how to proceed? Well, Fat Bob had sent four guys down, he thought, lets start with that...

Slick Jimmy was thinking of getting the job over with and going home to play World of Warcraft. He was thinking about how he was going to miss a very important raid when he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye and turned. Too late. A fist covered in brass knuckles came out of the darkness and planted itself in his face. Before he could react there was a foot in his stomach and a large man with a funny hat on took out a very large pistol and quickly shot all three of his coworkers before they could move to draw. How could a man so large move so fast? And what was with that suit? Slick Jimmy decided it was a good idea not to move from his current position. He spit out a tooth and watched as the man walked up to his boy Thug-Z who had a side wound and was struggling to get up. The man in the gray suit knelt down. He whispered something close to his face that seemed to reassure the young man who laid back down. Then the man punched Thug-Z's face in. Slick Jimmy proceeded to wet his pants.
The man stood over his now dead associate and stared down at him for what seemed like a very long time. The he got up, re-holstered his pistol, and stood over Slick Jimmy looking down at him. The thing that Jimmy noticed the most was the waves on the pier. It was such a nice normal calming sound, grounded in reality. Everything else seemed like a very bad dream. The man knelt down.
"Get up. You're going to drive." He said and stood back up.
Slick Jimmy, despite his bruised face and stomach had never moved so fast in his whole life.

The drive to the old cabin was unexceptional. It was quite a ways out of the city and the man did not make a sound the whole way. Every once in awhile Jimmy glanced at him in the rear view mirror. There was something in that face that frightened him a lot. Maybe it was those eyes or that hideous scar. Something about him smacked Jimmy as not entirely human. But that was stupid right? As the buildings gave way to trees and the pavement gave way to dirt, Jimmy tried to tell himself again that it was all a bad dream...

He almost missed the turn into the cabin's long driveway. It was easy to miss in the dark. Hell, it was easy to miss in the daytime. What would the man have done if he had missed it and had to turn around? He shivered as he turned into the slash in the trees.
It was always so dark in here, even during the day. All he could see now was the already overgrown dirt drive about a foot in front of his headlights. Jeez, they had just torn that up two weeks ago how was that possible...
Something ran out in front of the car and Jimmy slammed on the breaks. He turned his head quickly to catch a glimpse of whatever it was as it ran off into the thick woods. Before he could ponder what kind of an animal had a tail with a forked end, he felt a gun shove up against the back of his head and a voice that scared him much more than the weird old woods spoke up.
"Drive." It said.
That was enough for Jimmy. If I get out of this alive, he thought, I promise to god I won't use hacks in Counterstike again. Oh god please just let me live to see my computer again...

It seemed to take forever but when they finally pulled up to the front of the cabin, Jimmy stopped the car and turned it off. Then he sat as the man got out and came around to his side of the car and opened the door. He was pointing a gun at his head.
"Get out. You're going in first. You better pray to God your boss didn't set up an ambush inside that door or you're getting the first shots."
Jimmy wet himself again as they walked up to the entrance....

Something screamed deep in the woods and Mean Joe felt sick again. Something was very wrong here. He pushed the barrel of his 44 harder against the kids head as he turned the handle and pulled the door open....

Mean Joe Gets by With a Little Help

The walls of the private back rooms in Chicago's were soundproofed so you could come in and have a private conversation. Regardless, you could still feel the music's beat and the bass made the walls buzz. The rooms were very small, lit by a single dim overhead lamp and containing nothing but a low table surrounded by booth chairs. Mean Joe sat smoking, waiting for the club's owner to show up. It didn't take long. The door opened and in walked Bob Chicago surrounded by three goons in muscle shirts. He pointed and one of them posted at the door. The other two sat on either side of him as he took his seat across from Mean Joe. Inside his head Mean Joe laughed. Despite the size of his bodyguards, Joe knew he could take them all. He supposed Bob Chicago knew this too as he could sense fear coming off of him in waves and could even see sweat forming on his forehead in the dim light. Joe leaned back out of the light's range so only the glow from his cigarette could be seen.
"Nice scarf Bob," he said, "Which of your faggot friends gave you that?"
Mean Joe had nothing against homosexuals, he hated them as equally as he hated anyone else. He had just said it to piss Fat Bob off. And it worked like a charm, Fat Bob was practically shaking and his face was beat red.
"Now, now you listen to me! You can't just walk into my club and start making messes for me to clean up! My best bouncer had to go to the hospital and..."
Mean Joe interrupted him.
"Shit happens."
"Well, well, shit only seems to happen when you come around. On top of that I've got two bodies out there to get rid of before the cops show up and and and I want you out of here now!"
Mean Joe leaned back into the light.
"Shut your fairy mouth and listen. You owe me big time and I'm calling in my favor."
"I don't owe you jack shit!" Said Fat Bob, his jowls shaking in rage, spit flying from his mouth.
"I suppose you forgot how I spared your life last year. Without me you'd be lying in a swamp right now with a nice size hole in your head and your dick stuffed in your mouth. You'd be alligator food. Is that what you want? I could still make it happen."
Fat Bob's eyes went wide.
"You bastard, you unimaginable bastard. Tell me what you want and get the Hell out of here!"
Mean Joe leaned back in his chair again. He was enjoying this, enjoying it a lot. He pulled the last bit of tobacco from his cigarette and put it out on the table top.
"I need a place to hide away for awhile. You're going to get me one."
Fat Bob sighed in relief. He laughed.
"Is that all? Jesus, I thought you were going to make do some awful errand for you."
Fat Bob wiped the sweat away from his forehead. Mean Joe said nothing.
"Yeah, yeah I got a place. It's a ways out of town. I bought this run down cabin last year just in case I needed a place to go. Its got electricity and running water and not much else. I've been stockpiling food since I bought it....why do you need it anyways if you don't mind me asking?"
"You let your goons fuck you in the ass? I bet that feels real good. Bet you could shit standing up."
One of the guards started to get up and Fat Bob restrained him.
"I'll have a car ready to take you out there tomorrow..."
"Tonight."
"Tonight at midnight...."
"Eleven thirty."
"Eleven thirty at Seabird's Bridge..."
"Green River Tunnel."
"Green River Tunnel, they'll take you out to the cabin and drop you off. Now you listen to me buster, I don't ever, ever want to see you in here again, you hear me?"
Mean Joe laughed without smiling. It was a low rumbling sort of laugh that made Fat Bob's blood turn to ice and his face go pale. Mean Joe got up to leave. It looked like he was going to walk out but he turned and leaned in close to Bob's fat sweaty face and whispered,
"If you double cross me you candy ass piece of shit, you'll regret it more than you can even imagine. You got lucky that night I let you live, don't think I'll be so generous again."
Then he pushed past the bouncer blocking the door and walked out. Fat Bob sat for a minute, trying to get his nerves back. Then he ordered one of the goons to get the car ready and they all left. The room sat silent and empty except for the pounding of the drumbeat and the buzzing of the bass from the music outside.

Mean Joe's Adventure in Da Club

Mean Joe Anderson didn't like the current style of music. Actually, Mean Joe Anderson didn't like anything in the current style not the music, the clothes, or the attitude. Mean Joe Anderson would have been called an "old soul" if he had had one, which he most certainly did not. No one could quite figure out why he dressed like a 1940s gangster but no one really dared to ask. The last guy that made fun of his fedora hat had gotten his nose smashed into his brain. Needless to say, Mean Joe Anderson didn't have many friends either. He wasn't in the right line of work for that. The bouncer who's fingers he had just broken sure wasn't going to invite him out to the movies on Saturday night...

Chicago's had only opened up about a week ago but it had already earned a reputation as a "rough joint." You really had to watch yourself or risk getting a knife in your back...or worse.
Mean Joe sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. A slutty young bartender with a tramp stamp above her thong underwear tried to talk him up while he poured it. Mean Joe ignored her and she went to the other side of the bar. He was thinking about how much the young people grinding up against each other on the dance floor and the vulgar music make him ill when two young males in wife-beaters sat down on either side of him. Mean Joe lit up a cigarette.
"Hey man, whats with the crazy outfit? Where the fuck you think you is?" Said the one on the left.
Mean Joe pulled on his coffin nail and looked down at his shitty drink.
"Hey man, didn't you hear what my friend is saying to you? Is you retarded or somefin?"
Mean Joe looked at the guy on his right. He was wearing a large black hat with a white G embroidered on the front, canted off to the side. This amused Mean Joe quite a bit, but he didn't smile. Mean Joe never smiled. Maybe he had once after a particularly satisfying hit on a well paying job, but just that once and never again. Mean Joe took another drag on his cigarette. The punk on his left leaned in close to Mean Joe's face.
"You chicken shit motherfucker, you're going to get out of here, you hear me? Or you is gonna be in some serious trouble."
His friend pulled out a knife. Mean Joe took the cigarette out of mouth and said in his low gravelly voice:
"No, you're going to leave or I'm going to break your neck."
The punk on his left laughed and looked over at his friend.
"Hey man, you hear dat shit? Thats funny, do you know who we is? We's wanted in five states. We bad ass niggas, we ain't never scared of no clown ass pieces of shit like you. What the fuck you think you doin' walkin' in her wearing that shit? Don't make me tell you again, get the fuck out of my club."
Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray and lit another.
"Did you hear me motherfucker? I said..."
He didn't get to finish. With one swift motion Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the kids eye and smacked the knife out of his friends hand, caught it, and sliced his throat open. The boy's screams were louder than the music and the DJ cut it. Everyone in the silent gloomy club stood looking at the dapper man in the gray suit with the scar down the left side of his face and at the young man writhing around on the floor in pain. As they watched, Mean Joe leaned over and whispered in the young man's ear.
"I told you I would."
Then he snapped his neck.
Mean Joe picked up his drink and walked back to the private room the owner of the club had reserved for him. Fun time was over, now it was time to get down to business...

Untitled Part One - i've got drugs (out of the mist)

The man on the ground was dead. The fact that he wasn't moving and the large stick stuck in his forehead proved this, at least to George. Richard (Big Dick to his friends) wasn't so sure and gave him a swift kick to the side. Annie screamed and hit him in the face. George laughed and side stepped as Dick came running at him in a rage, putting his foot out so the big dummy would trip and fall, which of course he did, falling face first onto the sand. Then he got up and ran back up the beach to the little cabin in the woods. He was crying. George picked at his teeth and laughed again. Big fucking dummy, he thought, big fucking crybaby dummy. Annie sat looking at the patterns on her faded yellow dress.

The man on the ground in the cheap grey suit did not comment on if the situation was funny or not and lay looking up at the sky the same as before. A single housefly landed on his eyeball and he did not blink. Soon there would be many flies, and maggots, and rotting flesh. But for now he was content to just lay on the sand and enjoy the sun. It wasn't like he could get up anyways. He decided that even though being dead wasn't a whole lot of fun, at least he didn't have to pull himself out of bed to go to work in the early morning or try to patch things up with his wife anymore. He had an excuse to just lay and do nothing. He was living the American dream.
George decided a walk down the beach was in order and started to stroll off in a random direction. Annie just sat and said nothing. Normally she would have run after him, but he guessed the dead man changed everything. No big loss. He was tired of looking at the skinny bitch anyways. He was glad the man had come begging for food. At least it changed things. George couldn't stand things growing stale. He sat on a rock and watched the waves lap at the shore. He was alive and that was all that mattered. He was alive while almost everyone in the world was dead. The other two crybaby retards up the beach could all go fuck themselves for all he cared. George picked up a stick and threw it, watching it land on the water, making ripples that spread out before vanishing into nothingness. They could all go fuck themselves except that they had food, lots and lots of food. He supposed he could take some of it and run but Dick wouldn't let him. George thought he could take the big stupid dolt in a fight, but they'd both probably both get injured or killed. It was best that they all stuck together anyways. For now. He sighed and ran a hand through his greasy black hair. A seagull landed on a rotted fish and proceeded to pluck out its eye. George smiled and lit up a blunt, enjoying the dizzy feeling that immediately overtook his brain. The man's name had been Jack...

Annie was thinking about killing herself. She thought about that a lot, ever since the mist came and took everyone away. She looked at her skinny wrists, examining the veins and tendons. Would it be that hard to just slice them all with a razor? There was no hospital anymore that would save her life, no counselors that she would have to see afterwards, she could just lay down somewhere and die. George kept saying that being alive was all that mattered, that they were lucky. Richard said they were God's chosen people. To Annie it all seemed so pointless, the three of them living here in this rundown shack, what kind of a life was this? She looked at the man again. What was his name? He had said it was Rosy something. Rosy John? He had clearly been insane. When they had said they couldn't spare any food he had flown into a rage. George took care of that pretty quickly. She wasn't in love with him anymore. She had thought she was but the look in in his eyes when he had stabbed the man in the head and smashed his ribs with his boots had changed everything. He had enjoyed it, the sick son of a bitch. She looked down at her wrists again. It would would be so easy to do. So fucking easy. She sighed and decided to go check on Rich. If she didn't go calm him down he might do something stupid. She brushed the sand off her dress and walked up the beach.

Rosy Jack Johnson stared up at the sun and the sun stared back down at Rosy Jack Johnson, killed by a group of Jr. high schoolers just because he was starving and wanted some food. It really wasn't fair but he was dead and it was hard to be angry. A few more flies buzzed by his scarred face. It wouldn't be long now...

How to win an argument

"Arrrgh, what the Hell are you thinking?" I said as I punched my best friend in the face, dislodging several teeth.
"Yanni is the best new age musician ever, not your hack John Tesh! Teshy boy isn't worthy enough to lick Yanni's sandaled feet!"
The he came at me, swinging his meaty fists and cursing every dog I had ever owned.
"Yeh son of a hore, yeh Miffy had ta mange and yeh Rover was a queero!" He hit me hard on the side of the head, popping my left eyeball out of its socket. He reared back to smuck me again and stopped. He looked sad.
"I dinna mean to knock ye glassy out a its home." He said and put his head down while I grabbed it gingerly and tried to set it back in.
"It's alright," I said and winced. "The pains not too bad I guess."
I got it back in place and we both laughed. The Starbucks was busting with people that day and the couple next to our table laughed along with us. I guess they had been following our conversation. I smirked and sipped my coffee.
"Yanni's still the best though." I said into my cup.
Angus looked pissed again. "What ya say ya daft pansy? I dunna think I heard ya right."
I put my coffee down and looked him right in his bulgy eye balls.
"I said, you red haired, no showering excuse for a Scotsman, that..."
Then I threw my coffee in his face. He screamed and rolled around on the ground cursing all of my 13 cats.
So basically, I won. Yanni is the best that ever was and even hard headed Angus had to agree. He'd better, or I'll fucking cut his head off and piss down his neck.